The Conversation
by mascot
Summary: The day Javert would wish he never woke up to...chapter 5 is up!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Les Miserables nor any charater from V. Hugo...

a/n: This is my first attempt at writing a story like this. Read it and tell me your thoughts. I could use the help. P.S. The story takes place a year or two before Javert's suicide.

As the lazy afternoon sun shone on the market venders, tiny beads of sweat started to glisten on Margo's forehead. Whether it was because of her previous long walk or perhaps the weather was going to be a repeat of yesterday, she wasn't sure. One thing she did know, she was hungry and needed something quick to satisfy the dull ache in her stomach. Margo wasn't the loveliest girl to look at, passable yes, but no head turner. Her mother had more then once remarked on what a pity her eyes were so dark. Neither did Margo care for humid days. Her chestnut hair became an unruly mess in the humidity, in spite of her attempts at taming it back in a ribbon. The bustle of people blocked her path. The raunchy cry of drunks staggering back into their cramped homes only added to the tension. Her tongue glided over her parched lips. What to buy? _I only have a few sous left_ Margo thought. Like the cool breeze that blew on her forehead, she found her answer.

Steadily she weaved through the crowd ignoring several venders selling their wares. She closed in toward the pear stand. Ah! How she loved pears! She came to an abrupt stop and eyed her quarry. All of the juicy pears were stacked very neatly in eight rows. The biggest ones wore a patch of red. Margo picked up the largest pear that sported a rosy tint, brought it to her nose, and inhaled. She closed her eyes. It sure was a relief to her unlike the pungent stench of wet horse manure, overly ripe vegetables, raw meat and ale that wafted in the air. Her left hand eagerly fingered through her coat pocket making sure the sous stayed put. It wasn't the first time she lost a coin due to the hole in her pocket. Her right hand picked up another ripe pear. Margo asked the haggard looking woman behind the stand how much for it; however, before she could finish her last word, an image caught her eye. Leaning back and a bit to the right, Margo saw a boy and an older man in a scuffle. The old gentleman had grabbed the gamin by the arm while the child kicked and squirmed trying to free himself. The boy seemed about 12 years old, but probably was younger due to the fact he was so gaunt. The boy had pick pocketed the old gent and now began to howl like a caught animal, cussing all the while. In the meantime, the old woman had lost patience trying to get Margo's attention. She reached over and snatched both pears out of Margo's hands. At that instant, Margo shot back an annoyed look at the old woman and snapped, "Why'd you do that for?"

"What you wait 'in for Moi'selle? Gonna buy it or snatch it up like that gamin did to that ol' gent?" croaked the woman.

"No, no of course not!" Margo stammered shaking her head.

She quickly took the sou out of her pocket, which in turn produced a look of relief on the worn woman's face. Only then did Margo get her pears back.

"Thank you" Margo said, more to herself then to the old woman.

She turned and stuffed one pear in her pocket and began eating the other while crossing towards the middle of the square. The cool juice ran down her chin and into her hand. She cared little of fine etiquette; instead, she wiped her hand down the side of her brown dress. She looked about trying to find the pilfered old man but could not see him. Margo shrugged it off musing to herself how the gamin put up such a fight before he fled. As she was thinking on these things, she by habit placed her left hand upon her right wrist to turn her bracelet. But the bracelet was not there.

"No, Oh my God, not again!" she cried.

Margo glanced down her brown eyes, eagerly scanned the dirty cobblestones, left, and right, but it was nearly impossible for all the people there. Too many legs.

"Come on, find it!" she cursed herself. No use trying to get help, it was too chaotic. Frantically, she ran back and forth around carriages and idle customers, even pushing some to get back to the old woman's pear stand.

As soon as Margo arrived at the stand, she saw an old man. He wore a faded black gardener's hat while tending the pears. She had not noticed him before. The old man's wife was sitting further back behind the stand adoring a silver string in her hands. It gleamed in the sun.

"Madam?" Margo asked, leaning forward a little, then catching her breath, continued, "I just lost my bracelet now, and noticed your holding one in your hand…it's mine."

"Eh?" the old hag scrunched up her lined face.

"What you say Mademoiselle?"

Margo cleared her throat and spoke more confidently. "Madam, You're holding my bracelet, I can see it now, and I lost it while I was paying for my pears. I dropped it by mistake."

Margo fully expected her bracelet back, proudly extended her right palm upward, and said. "I'd like it back now."

Instead, the old man quipped back, "What? That bracelet belongs to me wife, I got that fer her, your sadly mistak'n" as he shook his head.

"I beg your pardon, Sir!" Margo shot back, surer now that she saw the engraving on the chain , but continued, "My bracelet fell as I was buying pears, just now."

Turning to the old woman, "You do remember me, don't you?" Her eyes glanced from the bracelet in the old hag's hands to the rummy man's eyes, back to the aged woman's face.

"Missy, I've ner' saw you b'for, ever. Don't know what yer talk'ng about." The old woman explained.

"You n'ver came an' bought no pears!" yelled the old man, "You came to see me wife's bobble and want it fer yerself, that's it, isn't that right?"

"No. no! that's not true." Margo replied, stunned at what was happening.

The old man sensing he was losing ground, suddenly grabbed the half-eaten pear from her hand.

"Hey! Give it back!" shouted Margo. While the old man wrestled the pear from Margo's hand he caught hold fast her other wrist.

"Laurie, go an' git the 'gendarmes, we's got a thief!" called the old man to his wife.

Margo's heart sank within her. She was determined to get free from his wretched grasp. As they struggled, what ever remained of the pear was quickly squashed. It dropped in the mire below. Bystanders started watching her.

"Here she is!" cried the old woman in glee, pointing an arthritic finger at Margo. As if Fate itself was against her, Margo swung around, her heart beat faster. Trying in desperation to free herself from this old man's tight grasp, she heard footsteps. As the sound of footsteps and clanking metal came closer, the bystanders gave way. Two gendarmes accompanied a figure in a dark overcoat. The tall middle-aged man dressed in a long black coat came forward. He shooed the remaining bystanders away. His authoritarian voice seemed to match well with his scowl and bushy growths of hair on either side of his cheeks.

Turning towards the old man the dark man said abruptly, "What is going on here?"

"Monsieur, Inspector Javert" began the old man, who slightly bowed, in a voice imitating sweetness, "this 'ere girl, demanded me wife's bracelet, an' said it was hers. We n'ver saw her before. Wad we did see was the pears she swiped from us in 'er hand, that's what!"

"I didn't swipe your pears, I bought them, it's you who stole from me, you old goat!" Margo shouted.

"We n'ver sold ya pears, Missy, watch yer tongue!", snapped the old woman.

Just as Margo twisted her arm free from her captor, a pear fell out of her pocket onto the ground.

The old hag bent down, picked up the pear, and exclaimed in triumph, "Hah, 'eres proof, Monsieur Insp'ctor! Here's me prized pear!"

The old man clasped his hands. In vain, Margo searched her pockets for the other sou for proof she had the money to buy the pears, but none showed up.

"Oh, shit", she murmured. _It must have fallen in the struggle_,she thought.

"Where is this bracelet?" asked Javert.

"'ere it is!" the old hag declared who proudly held it high.

Javert admired the silver bracelet for a moment in his fingers, gently moving the tiny chain links that glistened in the light. He turned the chain over, read the engraving, then glanced from Margo, to the old woman, and then back to Margo again. Swiftly he dropped the bracelet in his coat pocket explaining to the old couple the procedure of them having to make a further report at the station. In addition, the evidence would have to be looked over more thoroughly before the jewelry was given to its rightful owner. Pointing to the gendarme on his left, he ordered him to handcuff Margo and put her in the fiacre. Upon hearing this, both the old man and his wife were relieved that justice had been done, yet saddened at the temporary loss of their jewelry. Javert excused the second gendarme to his post, and then dismissed the few remaining gawkers. After which he turned on his heel and climbed into the fiacre. A gendarme climbed up the fiacre to sit at the driver's seat. He gave a sharp whistle, which perked up the horses' ears. The fiacre lurched forward.

In the carriage ride to the police station, Margo rubbed her sore wrists. She spoke up first.

"I didn't do it, Monsieur Le Inspector." Margo said, as she glanced up at Javert through her dark eyelashes.

Javert didn't notice her, he was busy writing down something on a small pad. As he glanced up at her, his head moved side to side slowly as the fiacre moved along the uneven road, but his eyes were steady on her.

"State you full name." he said in a stern voice.

"Margo." Came the reply.

"What is your surname?" Javert asked.

"de Nunez" Margo answered, glaring at him.

"As in N-u-n-e-z?" Javert's voice hinted at surprise.

"Yes, you know Spanish?" she asked.

Javert was too busy writing to answer, without looking up he asked.

"What is the date of your birthday?"

"Summer." Came the reply.

Javert was growing impatient with the one-word answers. He continued in a firm voice.

"What month and year?"

"August, but I'm not sure of the exact date." Margo said.

Javert let out an aggravated sigh, and frowned at her.

"Really I don't know, Monsieur," Margo further explained, "I was born the day before my father turned 31."

"What does that mean to me? I am asking you your birthday, do you or do you not you know when you were born?" Javert tone darkened.

"Monsieur", Margo drew in a breath, "please let me explain, my mother only knew my father for a winter. She didn't remember exactly what day he said he was born on, either the 23rd or the 24th of August."

"What year?" Javert asked again.

"1810" Margo answered.

"Where did your family come from?"

"My mother's family came from a little town called Costa Brava. Spain."

"Where were you born?"

"In Figueras, near the border." Margo replied.

"Your mother's first name?" Javert quizzed.

"Isabella" Margo replied innocently.

Javert's pencil that had been writing since the beginning of the questioning suddenly stopped. He re-read what he had wrote. Then once more. The fingers on his left hand gestured very slightly as if counting. Margo wondered why he was asking more about her family and not about her side of the story. His next question seemed hesitant, rhetorical. When he did speak, he cleared his throat, and asked, "What is your occupation?"

"I used to work with my mother, as a seamstress, washer woman or whatever jobs we could find." Margo explained.

"She passed away last winter," Margo added, looking out the side window closest to her.

Javert starred at her, his lower jaw twitched. As Margo continued, the only sound was the horses hoof beats and the occasional clank of the metal chain from the handcuffs.

"Some of our closest family came to the funeral, but they've since moved on. "

Her voice trailed off, as she wiped a tear from her eye and turned to look into Javert's face. He didn't seem as grave as before. _Why the change? _She once saw that look_. But where?_

Javert lowered his dark eyes and resumed. "Where was your father from and what occupation?"

Margo questioned herself, W_hat is with wanting to know all about my family? _She did not want to ask him just yet, but decided she had to. When she did, he chided her," You're in no position to ask questions, your job is to answer them!"

Margo shivered then looked out the window again, and tried to answer his question.

"I never knew my father; he left my mother shortly after I was born. That is what was told me. Only thing I know is that he left my mother with nothing, not a sou. He never came back. Ever.

Margo tried to conceal her laugh," he was too busy to be bothered by her. We struggled, she scrimped and saved just to feed and cloth me, many nights she did without dinner" Her family would not take her back because she had a child out of wedlock. She had no place to go, nowhere. Said he'd always love her" Margo's voice trailed off. In a sarcastic laugh Margo continued, "Yeah, right!" Nodding her head. "he loved her so much that all that was important was to shack up a girl and leave her with the pieces to pick up, 'cause the law is more important!" Pain cracked in her voice. In boldness she turned her head from the window and snarled, "An ideal model of a father wouldn't you say?"

Upon that last statement, Javert shot back a look that would have sent shivers down any hardened criminal. Instead, he shivered. Margo had said that sentence so empathetically filled with anger and hurt that in looking into her eyes he saw his very own eyes stare back at him. It was if an invisible hand had just slapped him coldly across the face. He took it full force, and swallowed hard. As his eyes lowered to read the paper, what he had written spoke volumes. He shut his eyes quickly before they betrayed his true feelings, questions he often thought of in the night in the haunted quietness of his room, questions he never voiced, from which he could not escape. For across from him sat the answer.

Perhaps it was the sun moving behind a twilight cloud, that made his face darken, and showed the lines in his furrowed brow. In a grave voice to hide his shock, he spoke slowly,

"You would dare speak of your father like that?"

"I have no reason to speak otherwise! Besides, I would want him to know exactly what I think of him. Of what that selfish blackguard put my mother and I through, you wouldn't know!" Margo glared back at him; her face flushed with anger, then in embarrassment for her rash tongue. Javert for the first time in his life kept his mouth shut.

The fiacre slowly made a turn towards the station, the horses breath labored.

Inside the carriage time stood still. Minuets passed by. Neither stranger spoke for a long time. Slowly, Javert pulled out of his right side pocket a string of silver. He let it fall between his slender fingers. He held it gently then broke the silence.

"Where did you get this? He asked. His voice was quiet.

"My mother." Margo looked away, then said, "She gave it to me before she died."

"Do you know who gave it to her?" he quizzed.

"No, she never told me." Margo sighed.

Between Javert's thumbs, he read silently the inscription on the silver chain. He was lost in thought. Suddenly, Javert leaned sideways and replaced the bracelet in his coat pocket. He picket up his notepad and started writing again. After some length, he flipped shut the notepad with his long fingers and shoved it into his side coat pocket. He cleared his voice and said. "That'll be all for now."

Margo's hands went up, the chain clanked, shaking her head in utter disbelief. It was all too much to bear, in a tumble of words Margo cried, "Monsieur Inspector Javert, don't you want to hear my side of the story? Do you? Aren't you going to ask me what I did? Why did you arrest me and not the real thieves? They are the ones at fault!"

Javert let out a sigh, crossed his arms over his chest, and said," Alright, tell me your side of the story".

Margo proceeded to tell Javert the whole story, from her entering the market square to when they both met. At length she caught her breath and asked Javert, "Do you believe my side of the story, Monsieur? Now, can you honestly say I'm at fault?"

The gendarme pulled the fiacre to a stop and jumped down from the driver's seat. Meanwhile, Javert leaned forward and grasped Margo's manacled wrist. _How strange_, thought Margo, _that the feel of his warm hand would send a shudder down her spine._ Javert paused a little, looked into her dark eyes, and replied," I already know who is at fault."


	2. Chapter 2

a/n: Disclaimer, i don't own LM or any of V Hugo's characters. Wow! it's been almost a year for a second chpt. Things have been busy and i almost forgot about this piece. r/r and tell me your thoughts...i'm working on a third chpt...mascot

Second Chapter:

Javert leaned against the heavy wooden door that let out a mournful groan, stubbornly stuck in the doorframe because of the humidity. He removed the manacles from Margo and had her put into a nearby holding cell. The room was large with a desk beside a wooden stove, and to the left was an adjoining room. The only light came from a pair of multi-paned windows that looked out over the street. The air inside had the waft of old wood, books, dampness and of smoke. On the desk were sheets of paper, an ink well, several quills and a pair of lit candles. On the right was a corridor, which leads towards more existing offices. The large room also had two holding cells side by side. They were hardly enough for one person, with only a low narrow wooden bench. One cell was empty while the other held Margo who reluctantly sat down, her stomach growled. As Javert walked towards the table across from the cell, he found no chair behind the desk. It had been a long day and he was tired. Turning around he walked in the other room and he saw none in that room either. The only chairs available were already in use in the adjoining room. At last, he located one halfway down a corridor. Grasping it behind him he forcefully dragged the wooden chair along the stone floor, which let out such a loud long screech, it made nearly everyone within hearing distance cringe. Finally situated in his chair, he let out a sigh, stretched out his tired legs underneath the table and began writing. A blonde haired lanky young gendarme came in from the corridor, passed her some bread and water through the bars. Then he stood at attention besides the cell. He looked on as Javert's quill squeaked along the paper. Once while writing, Javert happened to glance toward Margo, studied her, scratched something out, and then continued. When Javert was finished, he folded the paper, gave the note to the young officer, and spoke to him in a low voice. The gendarme in turn nodded, turned on his heel, and started down a long corridor on the right. Margo could not hear what the Inspector had said, because of the voices in the adjoining room.

"Monsieur Le Inspector!" Margo raised her voice, stood up wrapping her fingers around the iron bars. As Javert got up his boots echoed the gendarmes' footsteps fading away down the stone floor.

"What is it, mademoiselle?" Javert breathed, more tired than annoyed.

"What is to become of me?" Margo asked.

Before Javert could answer, a small uproar was heard to their left in the adjoining room. It was an old couple speaking loudly, simultaneously to a pair of gendarmes. It seemed they were arguing. One gendarme Jacques was stockier in build then his companion Michel who was his senior. Michel raised his hand trying to regain some order while in his other hand he held some papers. There was howl of victory, from one of them. Immediately, all four of them looked towards Javert.

"Ouuuw! Therre's the lit'al thieving pup!" cried an old hag pointing a knarly finger towards Margo.

Her graying hair, which framed her head, gave a more frightening look. A rush of renewed energy surged within her. She rushed into the large room toward Margo, leading the other three.

"An' right wher 'er belongs, too Laurie" cried the old man right behind her.

He was as excited as if he had won the lottery. So overcome by a rush of pure derision he bent over straining back and forth, breathing heavily, to get a good look of Margo up close, as if she was part of a carnival show. Margo instinctively backed up, in order to gasp a breath of fresh air.

"Ha Ha! Now you'll see what's in store fer you!" triumphed the man, laughing bearing a toothy grin, his dark rummy eyes flashed.

Javert's sudden whirling around to meet them face to face shortened the couples' laughter. His visage was dark.

"What are your names? You man, haven't I seen you before today?" questioned Javert, raising his hand to him.

"Ah" stalled the man, who lowered his eyes and took a step backward bumping into his old companion.

"Aye, Monsieur L' Inspector" he remarked. With feigned sweetness, he introduced himself and his companion as he placed his left hand over his breast and continued,

"Nigel and me lady Laurie be."

Having said this it dawned on him to remove his faded black gardener's hat.

To the left of him, the older officer handed Javert the police report the couple had filled out. As the Inspector walked towards the light from the candles to read it, he slipped his right hand into his coat pocket. Laurie began speaking.

"Why, no Monsieur L' Inspector, you 'aven't seen us b'fore, only today." Laurie lied, correcting her husband.

She looked at Michel, then to Jacques and then back to Nigel, who glared at her. She became aware of what she said and quickly brushed back a wisp of unruly gray hair from her face, and smoothed out the wrinkles in her dress.

At that moment, the older gendarme, Michel, joined in the conversation.

"Madame, it appears that from our records, both of you have suspected others from stealing from your fruit stand on more than one occasion," Michel continued, "a year ago it was over a merchant who harvested your pears."

"And I wrote up the last case you had, several months back, against a fellow employee of yours. You implied he stole from you by taking more produce that what he actually sold. " remarked Jacques who stood akimbo, "…and now this."

"Aye, he got 'imself a fair trial an' was sent to the quarry fer it." quipped Nigel, raising his head smugly, while he fiddled with the brim of his old felt hat.

However, from the looks of the police officers Nigel realized its best not to humor them and instead started to feel uneasy as to where this was leading. Therefore, he quickly changed the subject.

"Ah…now, well…" Nigel waved a hand, and chuckled nervously, "that is over an' done, eh?"

Feeling a bit more confident he continued, "So…we'd be off an' leave ye be to business if only we could 'ave it back.

He adjusted his gardener's hat on his sparse tanned head, and extended a wrinkled palm towards the police.

Yes! me bracelet" Laurie crooned, a sly smile crept across her pursed lips, matching her husband's. She clasped her weathered hands together in front of her mouth, " 'ow could I ev'r ferget it!

Those last two words snapped out more forceful hinting at her impetuousness.


	3. Chapter 3

Third Chapter:

"Yes! me bracelet" Laurie crooned as she clasped her weathered hands together, " 'ow could I ev'r ferget it!"

Javert who had since read the report had been lost in thought, his hand caressing the silver piece in his right side pocket of his overcoat. He came out of his reverie just as he heard Laurie's crackly voice crooning about his bracelet. Upon coming to, Javert walked over to Michel, handed him the report and then over to Laurie. He leaned forward, shot a terrible look in the old woman's eyes, and quizzed, "What does it say?"

"What? Laurie asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Nigel slowly and faintly stepped on her foot. Laurie shrugged and faked a smile. She aloud herself to blush, straitened her hair back with her arthritic fingers, looked away, and quietly said, "It's me pet name, Nigel calls me."

Nigel looked steadily forward, stiff as a board; the only thing that moved on him was the sweat down his back. The silence was contagious in that place. One would have taken an oath they could have heard the Seine flow that evening in the police station.

Javert proceeded to grasp Nigel's collar lifting him fully off the ground and told him quite sternly.

"If you value your life, and don't care to share in with your fellow employee's new job you'd be quick to drop the charges, without the bracelet. Here me? I have enough evidence to put you both away for good. Understand?"

"Like crystal!" gurgled Nigel, who was now sporting a much paler complexion.

Javert let go of him and he and his wife made haste out of the police station. Michel returned the papers to the proper file drawer as Jacques returned to his work. No sooner had Javert walked over to his desk, the young lanky gendarme's footsteps were heard walking back in the corridor.

Upon returning, Javert said to him, "Go back and get the papers I gave you."

The lankly gendarme wise enough not to question the Inspector glanced over at Margo and gave her a slight shrug. Javert watched him until the gendarme had walked down through the corridor and turned the corner. Javert reached for the keys and unlocked Margo's cell door.

There was no one in the two adjoining rooms.

A wide-eyed Margo walked out of the cell, sighed relief and said, "Thank you, Monsieur L' Inspector, I…I don't understand, how did you know?"

Javert looked at her, placed the silver bracelet in her hands, and said, "You would do well to wash the pear juice stain from your dress and have that hole sewn."

Margo smiled, put on her bracelet, and turned toward the heavy wooden door. As she put her hand on the brass handle to push open the door she stopped and turned around.

"Monsieur…but how did you know the bracelet belonged to me?" she asked.

Javert sat down on the edge of the desk; he let his arms down, allowing his fingernails to dig into the edge of the desk as he looked at her for a moment. His jaw twitched. One who knew him better would say they might have seen his eyes betray him just then.

Javert's eyes softened for a moment as he said quietly, "Do you understand the inscription?"

Margo moved her bracelet; the chain links caught the dim light of the candle. She read the inscription _'MIME TAJ'_

Moreover, said, "I don't know, maybe a code?" Margo turned, opened the heavy door, and started walking down the street into the early night.

Just then, the young gendarme walked up the corridor and handed the Inspector the folded paper. After dismissing him, Javert tore up the paper and threw it away, only he missed. He heaved a sigh as his trembling fingers picked up the pieces and put them into the basket.

Javert thought, _"Mi Isabella Mi Estrella Te Amo…. No. __That isn't true anymore." _ He chided himself. Javert refused to even finish the inscription in his mind, let alone allow it to be on his lips. To do so would be an insult.

After finishing some other paperwork, Javert got up, and left for the day. He walked towards his apartment. Dusk was slowly ebbing away to darkness as an old faded memory silently crept into his mind. He glanced momentarily downward on the cracked cobblestones, hearing the caw of a crow overhead in the trees. He doused the memory as quickly as snuffing out a flame, yet the foul recollection kept ebbing back like ominous waves on a shore. The early night air was cool as it blew a wisp of hair across his tense brow. His steps quickened.

"Cursed girl, the whole damn lot of 'em!" Javert irritably mumbled under his breath, his fists clenched at his sides as he drew his head further into his collar. His head and stomach began to ache. Javert narrowed his eyes as he resolutely headed across the alley.

He logically reasoned the dull pain in the pit of his stomach was because he hadn't eaten lunch. Javert smugly prided himself on being able to control his composure. He felt he suppressed a painful ordeal in the past; locked it in the far recesses of his mind. He had thrown away the key by sheer discipline of never recalling the events to mind. Javert had cut off all emotion from it. In doing so, he deluded himself into reasoning that an emotionless memory has no power to control him and therefore did not exist.

This terrible recollection like an insufferable entity, disregarded any respect for person, suddenly drifted into his thoughts often in the most inopportune times. When it did poke its head out, Javert would be in a foul mood sometimes lasting several days. Then again, he often was. Unlike before, today this thought had not only the audacity to catch him completely unaware, but to be so unavoidably bold, he had to confront and speak to it. Moreover, it caused Javert to quiver inside, and befuddle his thoughts, something he disliked the more. Indeed the reason he left early from the police station.

The walk took him to the row of blockhouses near a pair of ancient oak trees. It was in one of the upper flats of these homes that the Inspector had rented.


	4. Chapter 4

I don't own any V.Hugo's characters, this chapter or the previous one I forgot to disclaim… a/n: ponine-cossette: Yeah right! no one does say that in 1800's-thanks for catching that. PS: yeah, I forgot a sentence, that's why Chp 4 disappeared for a moment, it's corrected now. :D FYI... Javert's flashback memories are in _italics..._ Comprendes?

Upon turning the key into the lock of his apartment, he opened the wooden door, and removed his heavy woolen coat. He flung it over the back of a chair. Once again, his mind started to drift to another night in a distant place, but this time he didn't resist the reverie…

…"'_Now!"_

_The call was forceful and effective. Quickly it brought forth a clash of many police and guards as it fueled the surprised run away bandits into a sudden volley of rapid crossfire between the two encroaching mobs. These outlaws formed a terrible gang. They had been hunted down throughout France and now entered the boarder of Spain. Having the trademark for pillaging and raping small towns, they were finally caught. For some time, the crisp night air was alive with gunfire, shouts of the police, cries of the wounded, of dogs baying, and snow falling..._

Javert strolled into his cold dark bedroom and felt around for some time for the flint. Having found it, he lit a single candle on the worn dresser; and watched the gray smoke of the flame rise in swirls in the mirror…

…_Both sides were temporarily blinded from the smoke of gunpowder. As quickly as it started it ended, when the air cleared the smell of gunpowder gave way to the stench of muddy blood. Six of the nine outlaws shot dead lying in a red pool contrasted against a bank of snow. Immediately the other three were arrested and handcuffed by several gendarmes. Amid the bustle, from the light of his lantern, it was clear one of the badly wounded thieves was not going to make it until the trial…_

Javert let out an aggravated sigh, swung around, and loosened his cravat angrily. He undressed himself and unbuttoned his grey vest and shirt tossing them over the black wrought iron bed frame. Around the bed, from the wardrobe, he grabbed his striped blue nightshirt and pulled it over him. He did this, while walking towards the kitchen to make himself a meal. In his haste, he got his arm stuck in the sleeve and knocked over the clock on the dresser, it fell with a loud clang. Javert picked up the clock and read 9:17.…

…_Having turned him onto his side to make sure the thief was truly dead. Javert's eyes narrowed. Putting a lantern closer to the face to get a better look he immediately jerked back. In the swaying light of the lantern, thru the fall of snow, on the muddied ground he could make out the outline of a muscular middle-aged man. He knew this hard face, its coarse gray whiskers the dark almond shaped eyes. To make sure he pulled up the dead man's left sleeve, wiped away the copious amount of blood on it with a rag, which revealed a small triangular shaped birthmark on his forearm. For some reason this birthmark made Javert remember as a child when he had asked his father why he had a birthmark and he didn't. Disregarding that thought, Javert read the tattoo number and felt aversion to him. From childhood, he had remembered this man's number, 10917. Yes, it was him all right, that rouge, his father... _

Since afternoon Javert hadn't eaten and he was hungry. Sitting down on the kitchen chair, he ate quickly. As he did he bit down so hard on his tongue, he jerked his head up wincing in pain. He rubbed his throbbing bloody tongue across his inside bottom jaw trying to ease the sting. He closed his eyes and once more relived an event in Spain many years ago, one that held another kind of pain …

…"_Isabella!" Javert shouted, as he rapped on the door of her apartment, impatiently. His heart was pounding just as hard inside his chest. A moment later, an elderly woman dressed in a blue cotton dress, her white hair in a tight bun answered the door. She motioned with her hand that Isabella couldn't be seen at this time. The hollowness of her eyes and the grave look on furrowed brow was enough to solidify his fears. _

"_Senora, I beg your pardon, but I must see her." Javert continued in earnest. _

_However, the old woman refused to allow him to enter. In a trembling voice more in broken French then Spanish, the woman explained that Isabella was leaving and no one was to see her. _

"_Adonde? Where? I need to speak with her!" Javert impatiently protested._

_As he placed his right hand firmly on the wooded door to open it further, he saw an elderly gentleman in the background quickly getting up from a bed, holding a gun walking towards the door. Through the doorway opening, he could see a small bed. On this bed laid Isabella curled up in a ball facing a wall. She couldn't see Javert but he could hear her crying softly. _

"_Isabella!" Javert cried out in vain as she refused to turn around._

_Javert sensed the sternness on the elderly man's tone as he gestured with his head quickly, and spoke something in Spanish to the old woman. The woman quickly glanced at Javert then back at her husband and gave Javert a frightened look. Javert immediately realized his protests were getting nowhere and swallowed hard. He could feel beads of sweat on his neck. He didn't want a confrontation. Javert would never forgot the look the old woman's gave him, her eyes wet with tears, the deep sorrow expressed on her face, laced with fear.. _

"_No, Nunca!" She whispered, shook her head again, and quickly shut the door. _

_An overwhelming rush of emotion, suddenly welled up inside, Javert immediately realized what the two must have thought. _

"_What! You're both wrong!" Javert bellowed between clenched teeth, slamming his fist hard on the wooden door hearing the lock engage. _

"_Open this door!" Javert bellowed. He stopped pounding and yelling when he noticed he was attracting a small crowd of gawkers. He hated this, to feel shame and guilt for something he never did. Javert gnashed his teeth and stormed off angrily. His love for Isabella started to fade that morning._

_Later that year, Javert did see Isabella one last time, but briefly. She had rushed across a street and bumped into him. Both of them whirled around. Isabella held a baby in a multicolored wrap around her waist. The child was no more than a year old. She looked older than he remembered. Javert didn't said a word, but glared at her then at her child, who had familiar dark almond eyes, an unruly fluff of raven hair, and a small triangular shaped birthmark on her forearm._

"_Javert? Javert!" Isabella continued, shocked and surprised to see him._

"_It's Monsieur L'Inspector to you." Javert quipped back sternly void of emotion._

_Isabella startled back, looked at him, and shook her head slowly, then realized by his cold stare he had changed. This wasn't the man she knew before who had tenderly made love to her one November night. Javert had changed his feelings for her from love to contempt… _

Having finished his dinner, Javert retired to his bedroom. He flopped himself onto the bed, which creaked and bounced slowly. He was too tired mentally to question the reason for this evening's reverie; all he wanted to do was sleep. Heaving a ragged sigh, rubbed his eyes, yawned loudly, and put his left arm across his brow to sleep. However, the events of the day passed through his mind. Just as Javert was entering that sweet restful subconscious realm, where dreams begin, he had an epiphany…though he had not seen Isabella ever again…he realized today he had spoken with her child. Her child of course... but also his sister… . And with that, Javert's eyes suddenly opened.


	5. Chapter 5

I realize some of you didn't quite get the jist of the story so here's a hint….  Chapter 4 & 5 are the answer to the puzzle.

Chapter 5 –

Quickly Javert swung his legs over the side of the bed onto the cold wooden floorboards. His hands clenched the edge of the soft mattress while he dug his fingers into the bed sheet. At that moment a silver ray of moonlight coming from his window shattered his drowsiness, filling him with a shudder of exhilaration followed by nauseam.

"My God!" Javert exclaimed as he shut his eyes tightly, "How could I've been so obtuse – it was there all along!" he sputtered into the darkness in a wave of relief.

His left hand roughly swiped through his thick raven hair as his lucid mind raced quickly, piecing together random vignettes of repressed memories forcing him to relive…a branded arm…. bloodied snow... Isabella crying …fists pounding ... Margo's unusual birthmark….he felt conflicting emotions all at once. He didn't know if he should laugh, cry or rage as his heart was torn. His relief from carrying such a heavy burden for so long lifted only temporarily as the realization of the sordid truth dawned on him. Javert shuddered in a cold sweat. FIN


End file.
